


6 days, 14 hours, and 36 minutes

by lionsenpai



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: F/F, you may NOT @me for i am chillin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: “Seven days.” Screwing her eyes shut, One closes the book in front of her and leans forward over her grandiose desk to massage her temples with both hands. “You have seven days. Learn each other’s responsibilities and perform them as the other would. Perhaps you will learn to appreciate the differences between you, instead of weaponizing them.”*or, One has had it Up To Here with their shit, and she's enforcing a good old-fashioned role swap for the greater good.
Relationships: Five/Four (Drag-On Dragoon), Five/One (Drag-on Dragoon), Four/Original Female Character
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	1. day zero

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a REALLY long time since ive hit up the d3 fandom, and if you've read anything by me in the past, please just dump that in the trash at the door. we're here for COMEDY. we're here for FIRST TIMES. we're here for EVERYONE BUT FIVE HAVING A GREAT TIME. thank u.

“This cannot continue,” One decrees, once she has the both of them before her. “If you find each other so inflammatory, the only remedy is to gain perspective.” 

“Perspective? If only looking were enough,” Five shoots, in the first breath taken for pause. “Four wouldn’t be half as miserable as she is. What, with all the time you spend basking in One’s—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m only making myself available to our leader, in case she has need of me for anything. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Four manages to keep her voice soft and thoughtful, just the way it ought to be, even if all she wants to do is crack Five’s stupid head open and let her leak out across the floor. Containing it makes her tremble all over. “You’re the one who’s always hanging around, leering at her.”

“Enough.” There’s a fine line of frustration in One’s words, rigid across her shoulders. With one hand she worries her temple, and with the other, she smooths a crease from one of her texts, laid out on the desk before her. “Enough. We are going to try something new, since neither of you can be trusted to behave as Intoners ought to, _especially_ in front of our subjects—”

“Is this not how Intoners behave?” Five gestures to her throat, which hosts a myriad of new bruises, held in stasis, held in the flesh even despite the Song which could so easily sap them away, surely just to remind them all of Four’s momentary lapse, surely just to make her look bad in front of One, always in front of One— “And what’s all this about subjects, dear One? Aren’t we liberators—”

“It’s not right for you to keep interrupting,” Four says, and wishes she could take her by the neck all over again. “We are liberators, just like One envisioned. We can’t act violently in front of the people who look up to us, even if it was an accident…”

“An accident? Oh Four, you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed—”

“Seven days.” Screwing her eyes shut, One closes the book in front of her and leans forward over her grandiose desk to massage her temples with both hands. “You have seven days. Learn each other’s responsibilities and perform them as the other would. Perhaps you will learn to appreciate the differences between you, instead of weaponizing them.”

This time, no one speaks. 

The moment drags on, but One does not see fit to end it.

Hesitantly, through the cracks forming in her expression, Four asks, “You mean… I have to take care of the Land of Seas for a week?”

Take care of Five’s shithole? Fuck that.

“As well as any other obligations Five has, yes,” One replies. She opens her eyes, and she looks awfully tired, and there is a moment of yearning where Four wishes she could assuage that somehow, her fingers kneading into tense shoulders, a knotted back, slender thighs— “Whatever duties one has, the other will take on for the week.”

“My, my…” Five says, a knowing little glint in her eye. That shatters every one of Four’s distracted thoughts, and her hands curl into the folds of her heavy jacket with violence once more. Four _hates_ when Five looks like she knows something Four doesn’t. “But I have so many obligations. Soirees every day of the week, morning to dusk…” Amber flashes in Four’s direction, and her lips curl into a small smile. “I don’t think poor Four has the… Stamina, for it.”

“Soirees? _That’s_ what you do all day?” Four’s tone spikes just above calm, but she can’t help it. It’s galling. The amount of work Four puts into ruling the Land of Mountains keeps her busy well past into the night, most of the time. That Five is just… Just… “I can’t believe your nation hasn’t sunk into the ocean! One should have never trusted you with the Land of Seas.”

Five only shrugs. “I know I’m _usually_ more hands-on, but…”

“Where are your Disciples?” One interjects, still looking pained. 

“Dito?” Five touches her chin, making a show of thinking, as though she has two braincells to rub together at all. “Oh, he’s around. You know how easily we lose track of each other, especially while I’m visiting you all.”

What she means is: especially while Four is there to antagonize.

Four grinds her teeth, but makes herself look at One instead, clearing her throat. “Decadus is handling an urgent matter in the Land of Mountains.”

What she means is: Decadus’ simpering makes her want to gag him with his own junk, and that’s not suitable behavior. Especially in Cathedral City. 

“Alright. Four, find Dito and ask him to guide you through Five’s schedule. Five, you’ll have to manage on your own.”

“Being Four? Oh, I think I’ll manage.”

Four seethes, but nothing she thinks can be said in front of One, so she stays silent.

“You have your instructions.” From her perch behind her desk, One has cracked open an eye. There’s none of the focus in her stare. None of the single-minded intent. Four’s gut goes tight and sympathetic. “Now, please...”

Neither of them argue their dismissal, but where Four’s answering smile is all tight-lipped and forced, Five’s is easy. They turn and leave, the grand doors of the library grinding closed behind them. Four waits and hopes, fleetingly, that Five will leave before her, so she can double back.

Instead, Five looks her way the moment they’re alone. “Now Four, I hope you realize what this means.”

“What,” Four spits, because _of course_ Five wouldn’t let her have this. Out of sight of One, Four can relax just a little. “That the Land of Seas might actually get to benefit from have a real ruler instead of a sex-crazed, irresponsible bimbo—”

Five pinches her cheek, and bimbo comes out _bwimbo._ “Oh Four. Stop, you’re going to make me blush!”

Swatting her hand away—how dare she touch Four at all! It’s like she can’t even remember how she got that circle of bruises around her neck in the first place!—Four snarls, “Then _what.”_

“Well, if you’re truly to be me…” Tucking her hand away, Five trails off and chuckles, as though the thought is terribly endearing. It makes Four want to gag. “You’ll have to be a bit more… Mm, adventurous than you’ve been in the past.”

When she says nothing in response, Five cocks her head, her smile all teeth. 

“What I mean to say is, if you think you could really ever pretend to be me without spreading your legs and seeing what you’ve been missing out on all these years—”

“You’re disgusting!” Four hisses low. Of course it would be about that, as if Five would ever allow her to forget. “If you think I’m going to—to—slut it up like you do—”

Five claps, and the sound is sudden and decisive in the space. “Oh, I simply knew you’d disappoint One! Thirty seconds in, and you’ve already given up! I can’t say I’m surprised, but really—”

The steel of her gauntlet closes around Five’s wrist, and Four yanks, furious, before she remembers that this is exactly what got them here in the first place. Five always running her mouth, Five always pretending like she’s the bad one, like Four has never done a decent thing in her life—

Five’s sharp inhale rounds into a laugh when Four releases her. 

“You just can’t help yourself, ca—”

“You can’t touch anyone,” Four says, abruptly. 

Five’s expression cants. It stays smug, stays satisfied, but something turns on an axis. 

“Hm?” she asks, batting her lashes. 

“You can’t touch anyone,” Four says again. “Not your retainers. Not _my_ retainers. No one!” Her voice drops lower, and her face is on fire, but she says, “Not even yourself.”

The smile quickens with mocking. “Four, are you saying you don’t even—”

“No one! Or else _you’re_ the one that’s going to disappoint her—again.” The words want for a shove to punctuate their end, but Four reigns herself in. She won’t let One down again. She won’t. Not even for Five. Not even if she’d deserve it. Standing straighter, taller, Four says instead, “For one week.”

“Now that,” Five breathes, and there’s the faintest little distortion in her Song, like a note plucked and held too long. “Just doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

“I’ll tell.”

“And if you don’t indulge?” Fives asks, taking a step into Four’s space, regardless of the bruises she’s collecting. The scent of her is heady: the tang of steel from her armor, the remnants of salt on her skin. “Should I tattle too? Oh One, Four just refuses to get bent over a—”

“Shut up!” Four does shove her this time, averting her gaze.

That little eddy dissipates, and the melodies of Five’s Song stabilize once more. She tosses her boundless hair over one shoulder, and smiles like a shark down at her. “Well! I suppose we’ll see which of us lasts longer, won’t we? I am _so_ excited to report my progress to One at the end of the week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one week!!!! how bad could it be!!!!!!! >:)c


	2. day one

“I just can’t help but wonder what it is you hope to accomplish with this.”

Though Five leans beneath an arch on the southern gardens, concealed in shadow, she knows One is aware of her. All the more galling of her, then, when she doesn’t respond. When she keeps her back to Five, flips the page of her book, and reaches for the steaming mug on the table beside her instead. 

Not for the first time, Five wonders if One enjoys ignoring her specifically because she knows how it wounds her. Of all of the people Five could have sought for company, the one she chose won’t even look her way. Positively tragic. 

Pushing from the archway, Five crosses into the garden proper; it’s nothing like the gardens back in the Land of Seas. The flowers sprout thanks to careful tending, but their petals are near translucent, veiny and pink. Five plucks one absently and twirls it between her fingers, then crushes it, already bored. 

“Dear One,” Five coos, hands drifting over the tops of those square, resolute shoulders. “Surely nothing in those books of yours could be interesting enough to keep your attention while your most devoted—”

“Actually,” One says, not turning, but reaching for another book without ever setting aside her own. She’s dusted off a number, brought them out from the library to see the sun, and now she holds one over her shoulder. “I thought you’d rather like this one.”

Fives takes it, reluctantly. A glance at the cover: a certain culinary history of a certain kingdom—the Land of Seas? 

“Perhaps later,” Five says, setting the book back with the others and rounding One’s reading chair. “Perhaps when I am not so consumed with the machinations spinning Cathedral City upon its head. I do know how you adore your games, but really, you must know how this will end.”

From beneath her straight bangs, One glances up, but her regard is brief. Looking back to the book in her lap, she says, “I can’t say that I do.”

Five kneels before her, if only so she may cross her arms over the tome and force the issue. “In flames, as all things with Four must inevitably end.” 

“And yet she is in your wing of the cathedral, wrangling reports from your retinue, and you are here.” There is a certain distance in her words, but her mouth tugs, softly, as though she hasn’t yet committed to a smile. “If this is to be unsuccessful, a lack of effort on your part seems the most likely cause.”

“There is only so much micromanaging one can do before one grain distribution looks much like the rest.” From this angle, she rests in One’s shadow, and she thinks that it is such a glorious shadow, such a glorious position to find herself in. Walking fingers across a page, Five traces the impression of knuckles through white leather gloves and asks, “Has your headache improved? You looked miserable yesterday.”

“It has, thank you.” Pale crimson drifts to where Five is drawing a pattern up to dip beneath the hem of One’s sleeve. After a moment of consideration, she withdraws from the touch, only to lift Five’s chin. “I see you finally allowed yourself to heal… I was wondering how long you would carry on your theatrics.”

Five can’t help her smile, letting One bare her throat. “It’s just so easy to wind her up… As you well know.” When One only draws her thumb across the line of her jaw, Five continues, “You’ve set her to the wolves. A week with my hand-picked retainers in such close proximity… Simply looking and not touching… Well, it would drive anyone mad, especially with Prim.”

One hums, arching a brow. "You brought her? I hope she’s doing well.”

“Oh, positively virile. Have you re--”

“No.”

“That’s depressingly close minded of you,” Five sniffs. “But less surprising than all this. I wonder… Are you trying to provoke something, One?”

“You’re terribly suspicious of my motives, when I made them very clear,” One says, withdrawing her touch. “And you’re one to talk about provocations. Nevermind looking after the Land of Mountains. It’s been a day, and you’re already reneging on your end of the arrangement.”

“I can’t imagine I know what you mean.”

“I mean: if you think I’m not aware of why you’re here—”

“Are you saying I need a reason to visit you, as if the pleasure of your company isn’t—”

“—And why you are knelt before me—”

“—I’ve been standing all day, One, surely you wouldn’t have me—”

“—And why you are so sweetly asking after my health—”

“—I resent the implication—”

“—Whilst massaging my thigh.”

“—I would never!”

One finally crosses the threshold into a full smile, her brows rising in increments as they both look down. So Five  _ is _ currently groping along the in-seam of One’s stockings. It’s an easy trap to fall into, all things considered. 

“Well,” Five says, easy and light. “Perhaps I would.”

“Yes.” With forefinger and thumb, One extracts Five’s hand like it might be toxic. Rude! “Although, as I recall, you’re meant to be acting with a touch more… Propriety. In accordance with your agreement with Four.”

“Hmm? What’s that now?”

Laying the offending hand lower on her knee, One says, “I heard you—” Typical. For one so interested in the concept of propriety, One certainly has no qualms about using those senses of hers to eavesdrop. Five loves her for it. “—You made a number of implications about Four’s obligations… And she was very clear about your own.”

“Oh yes, how could I forget? I nearly laughed myself into an early grave. Me? Not touching anyone for a week? Could you imagine it?”

“Quite easily.”

A clip of laughter. “You joke—”

“I don’t, actually.”

There is a moment, thin like static electricity in the air, where Five narrows her eyes. It passes, but— “I’m not sure I like your tone, dear One.” Five frowns. “Or your look.”

“I can’t imagine I know what you mean.” 

“I’m not cut out for it,” Five says, lifting her head from One’s lap. Something is wrong. Her hands make little claws over One’s knees, digging into the silk of her stockings. “Surely, you must realize—”

“I think,” One says, and Five straightens, mouth snapping shut like a trap, her spine tingling like a tuning fork struck. It hums all the way up her back, through her neck, to the brainstem and the very base, animal part of her mind that nests atop it. Blinking back white, Five tries not to swallow her tongue. She tastes iron and sage—One’s Song, intimately close, but not at all like what’s she’s accustomed to. The notes of her own Song fluctuate, settling into a new rhythm.

“One,” she says, and it is very much a warning. 

“I think,” One repeats, more emphatically. “That you ought to put the same intent into this as Four is—”

“You didn’t—”

“—And she laid out her rules very clearly. No touching anyone else. No touching yourself.” It’s backed by Song, backed by the indomitable will of One, of their leader of—Five slumps back away from her, already trying to harmonize, trying to correct the adjustments One has made to her Song, but it’s no use, the melody doesn’t budge—

In the wane, washed out sun of Cathedral City, One merely smiles at the attempt, returns to her book, and says, “Six more days, Five. Surely you’ll find some way to make it through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONGRATS TO FIVE, who walked into this thinking she was unfuckable and who is now actually--


	3. day two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS, sorry i forgot to upload last week lol. this chapter is for you, but the change in pairings is for Me.
> 
> anyway, leave it to four and her Issues (TM) to double the word count of the story

Dito laughs right in her face. There is nothing Four despises more than being laughed at. 

When Dito spins on his heel and says something about finding something to disembowel, there is a moment, long and luxurious, where Four thinks about how she could break him. At the joints, like a little doll, and wouldn’t Five just love that? One of her favorite toys, in pieces. 

The thought of it is tender and bloody in her mouth. It is a rare filet, meant to be savored. 

Four abstains, though. She always abstains. 

Without Dito, Four can only resort to the circus trope of retainers Five has brought with her. The second she enters Five’s wing of the cathedral, Four knows it's going to be a crapshoot.

There is a soiree in session downstairs—the many open balconies overlooking the cloister where they’re held let the sounds drift in, _eugh_ —but without Five herself, it seems most of the retainers have taken the day as a holiday. Four finds half a dozen of them in Five’s quarters, lounging in thick clouds of incense and pipesmoke. 

The idle chatter cuts the moment she appears. Four swallows, but doesn’t let herself shrink. The attention makes her itch, and Two’s trick of imagining people in nothing but their underwear isn’t nearly so effective on people who are _actually_ in nothing but their underwear. 

Staunchly, she does not even notice the bodies on full display. Not one bit.

Taking the center of the room, Four clears her throat—part of necessity, the space a fug of sharp and earthy scents, and part because its proper preamble to saying something important—and says, “As I’m sure you’ve already heard, I’ll be overseeing the Land of Seas for the week. I know you aren’t used to having an Intoner who spends time caring for their land, and I know it’s not _really_ my responsibility to make sure that your country improves, but…” 

But compiling proof of every one of Five’s messes and then presenting them to One at the end of the week is the light at the end of this shit-tunnel. 

“But it’s what a _real_ Intoner ought to do, and I could never leave people in need to their fates,” Four finishes, valiantly. “So please, if you would help me gather the records for the Land of Seas, I could begin work immediately.”

They stare. At her. At each other. 

Perfume and hemp claw up into Four’s sinuses. Someone coughs. Grimace-smiling, Four clears her throat again, more sharply this time. “I said—by One’s decree, I’ll be taking over responsibilities of the Land of Seas for the week. Please bring me all of Five’s correspondence and work.”

Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. 

If Four could look at any of them without catching a glimpse of nipple or inner-thigh, she’s sure she’d find thousand-yard stares. Maybe even a bit of drool collecting at the corners of mouths. What was she expecting from stupid Five’s stupid retainers? All they’re good for are their bodies—

“What work?” 

Four whirls on the voice. “What do you mean _what work?”_

Perched on a small nest of pillows in a wane beam of sunlight, the speaker shrugs her thin little shoulders. There’s a pipe balanced over her knobby knee. Scraps of white and black fabric drape across her flesh. Four takes in the long, pale limbs folded into comfortable shapes in camera-shutter flashes. There is very little of her left to the imagination.

“Begging your pardon, but… The Land of Seas doesn’t have any work to manage. It runs itself.”

It’s Four’s turn to stare, her mouth falling open.

Around her the retainers wait, placid. There are men and women both built like gymnastics, taut with muscle. There are soft, curvy bodies, wearing every manner of thing, meant to entice. And there is that woman, with her hair cut along her collarbones, with eyes like pallid roses, almost like—

Heart leaping into her throat—she wants to destroy Five, wants to dissemble her piece by piece for this—Four stammers out, “Then what do you _do?”_

The pale one tilts her head, and it is a lazy tilt, like her skull is full and heavy with smoke. “See to the needs of our Lady.” If it’s the pipe making her look at Four like that, smile at Four like that, all with that face, all with that body… “Which, I suppose is you, for the next week anyway. So...” 

That, Four realizes with a beat of horror, is an invitation. More alarmingly, Four realizes that her mouth is dry, and even if it weren’t, there’s no words in her head, no thoughts at all save vague notions of bodies moving together. 

“Bring me records,” Four manages, before her thoughts can spiral. When the retainers only arch their brows and glance between one another, Four snaps, “Your—your taxation records. Distributions. Everything. I want to see everything—now.”

“Lady Four?”

“I have to—I need to make sure.” When they don’t respond, Four snaps, “Now!”

Notes of Song reverberate in the high ceilings. In an instant, the retainers are on their feet, shuffling out, and it’s not at all how an Intoner should act, but Four needs them gone. The pale retainer, the one that she needs gone most of all, stops and glances over her shoulder. 

“If there’s anything else you need while we’re doing this…” she says, haltingly. “Just ask for Prim.”

In the moment before she disappears, she looks just like One. 

*

If only to keep herself from pacing trenches into the stone, Four has the room redressed. Five’s quarters are an ornate affair; like the rest of Cathedral City, they were refurbished in the wake of the rebellion. Now they are all stained glass and mahogany furnishings, woven carpets and embroidered table runners bearing Five’s sigel. 

Four doesn’t trust a single surface. 

Tracking down a small crew of Cathedral City wards, she instructs them to open all the windows and burn all the linen. The smells of drugs and Five’s perfume begin to vent, and the sheets and pillows on the impressive four-poster bed are exchanged for something with less of a checkered past. Overseeing the crew’s work gives her something to do, and so she hovers and frets and has each toy they find destroyed with extreme prejudice. 

Various surfaces are scrubbed, various stains discovered, and by the end of it, Four has still not scoured the image of the pale retainer—Prim, as if she even asked, as if she even wanted to know!—from her mind. 

It’s not hard to imagine the reasons why Five has her. Rather, it’s harder not to.

The rub of Four’s thighs has not stopped bothering her for hours now.

The saving grace, the thing that keeps her distracted, is the trickle of papers into her clutches. She imagines, ripping into each tax record and municipality report, that she’ll be so diligent, and at the end of the week, she’ll be able to go through everything in front of One. She’ll read how she corrected the gross oversights on frivolous spending, and One will look at her with such pride and happiness, and that will be all it takes to open One’s eyes and prove that Five is more trouble than she’s worth. 

That she’s an anchor, dragging them all down. That Four is the person One can rely on. 

What Four finds instead is: there is no work to be overseen in the Land of Seas.

Four sits at the newly sterilized desk in Five’s quarters and reviews the records that Five’s retainers dig up, severely at first, and then with mounting despair. The government functions, but there is very little to do as its figurehead. What Four finds, again and again, is proof of a system at work, of smaller, local governments working in tandem with the larger. Of Five distributing power into the hands of humans—of all the insane, moronic things to do; didn’t the war teach her anything?—and of it _working._

Every record is another nail in the coffin. Four wants to rip out her hair. 

She is tearing at one of her nails, bent over one of the missives—one of the rare distributions made directly from Five herself: food for the impoverished, Four could _scream_ —when there is a noise at her shoulder.

Prim clears her throat, and Four yanks her glove back on. 

“Just me,” she says, and her mouth makes a peculiar shape. “Did you not hear me come in? We managed to dig up a couple more of these, if you still want them…”

“Thank you.” Why must it be _her_ of all people? Not looking up, Four takes them from her as kindly as she can manage, willing her voice to be soft as down. If she wavers, it’s because her stomach is doing a full acrobatic routine. “That will be all for now. Your help has been very much appreciated.”

There is nothing better for unsavory thoughts than numbers and figures, and Four’s thoughts are very unsavory. 

Not that that’s _her_ fault. 

With a desperate sort of gusto, Four scans over the sheet on top, and then the one beneath it, and when she seems nothing condemnable on the third page, tosses the whole stack onto the desk with a huff. It’s unbecoming, but Four can scarcely help herself. She sinks down into her seat, thinking furiously. 

Four was so certain… This would be her chance to prove that she was the better, more capable one. She would find all of Five’s messes left behind her in a trail, and, as she always did, she would tidy them up. 

And then One… One would have to appreciate that. One would _have_ to appreciate her.

“If there’s something specific you’re after…”

Four jumps again; Prim is still here? She thought—fuck.

“No! No, nothing…” Trying to gather the papers she just threw sends some of them spilling over onto the ground. Four curses. “I’m just…”

Wasting time? Failing to discover Five’s stash of fuck-ups? 

“It’s just Intoner stuff.” Four finishes, lamely. And then, for good measure: “That’s all.”

“Huh,” says Prim, from somewhere behind Four. “That’s not the kind of Intoner stuff I’m used to.”

Four dares to peek over her shoulder and spies Prim sprawled on a daybed against the back wall, nestled between the folds of two navy curtains. There’s nothing but a white wrap around her waist, and it seems to barely reach despite her narrow hips. There is a slit which shows the flesh of her thigh, the subtle prominence of patella, the curve of her calf. It’s so thoughtlessly comfortable, and Prim swings one leg over the edge of the daybed idly. 

She smiles at Four when she sees her looking, and it sinks into Four’s belly like molten slag. 

In the silence, Prim says, “If you tell me what you’re after, I might be able to help... I’m here to serve you, Lady Four.”

The way she says _serve_ makes Four want to shred something.

Numbers. Figures. Ruining Five. _Focus._

Slowly, Four stands and turns. Perking, Prim makes room for her on the daybed, and that makes Four falter, just for a moment. There is a very pretty ruby in the little dip between her breasts, which glimmers in the light. In a moment of brilliance, Four blows past this by moving to one of the open windows instead. 

She breathes deeply. The landscape outside is entirely dull. Good. _Focus._

Gathering herself, Four manages to ask, “...Doesn’t it bother you that Five refuses to rule the Land of Seas?”

From the daybed, Prim says, “Lady Five does rule the Land of Seas.”

“Not the way she’s supposed to! She—” Four stops. Recalibrates. “A real Intoner ought to be more involved in the affairs of their land. We were entrusted with their care by our leader, and it’s our duty to carry out her will... Wouldn’t you rather have an Intoner who would actually lead you?”

“Oh.” A pause. “Not really.” 

“Wh—” Four begins, whirling. Prim balances her chin on crossed arms, looking up at Four from the sweeping head of the daybed. Four demands, “Why not?”

“I hope you won’t mistake my meaning,” Prim says obligingly, as though she can hear the furious percussion going off in Four’s skull. “We’re all plenty thankful for what you did in the rebellion. All of you goddesses. Before you came down from the heavens, the world was a shit place. Nothing good that wasn’t broken or rotted before too long. We owe you everything.”

 _But,_ Four thinks, dismally. 

“But,” Prim says, nonchalantly, her feet kicking up behind her to twine at the ankles—god. “Now that the war’s through, it’s nice to be able to pick up the pieces with your own hands and build something new. After Caerula, I think everyone just wants a life to themselves. Lady Five may have her vices, but she gives us that chance.”

Vomit roils in Four’s stomach. She’s going to be sick. It takes everything in her not to kick and thrash and shout because _apparently_ Five has hoodwinked an entire fucking nation and Four _still_ can’t stop thinking about the ruby adorning Prim’s sternum.

“ _Lady_ Five—” Four snaps, and even she can hear the petulance in it, despite her best efforts. The claws of her gauntlet scrape over the palm, and she clenches her fist tight. “—Has never thought of anything but her stupid sex drive.”

A hum. “She frets over how many courses are at lunch too.”

Four snarls out loud and doesn’t care how improper it might be. Bending to set her elbows on the windowsill, she massages her temples a la One—not that the ever worked for her, not that anything ever works for her except pummeling something into dust.

“What are you so up in arms about anyway?” The sound of Prim’s voice is closer, alarmingly so, and Four straightens and slams her palms down on the windowsill when she finds her right there. It knocks all the fury and air out of her lungs. “So what if Lady Five would rather shag than govern? If there’s nothing to do, why not?” 

Looking away, Four says, “You don’t get it.”

“Try me.”

On the windowsill, Prim’s pinky brushes Four’s gauntlet. Four does not—cannot—lift her gaze. She focuses hard on the swell of bony knuckles across Prim’s hand, the wrinkles of skin at her joints. 

With her heart in her throat, Four says, “It’s about—duty—” Prim’s touch drifts along the wicked curves of Four’s gauntlet. “—And obligations—” Along the hooked joints of each fingers. “—And being who we’re supposed to be—” Four realizes she is not breathing. “—Um—”

Perfume and pipesmoke cloud her senses. There’s a black little strip of cloth that hugs the gentle slope of Prim’s chest like hands. Four does not look up, but she still sees this. 

Stepping closer still, Prim asks, “You’re _goddesses._ Aren’t you already who you’re supposed to be?”

Four’s thoughts sprint and stumble and gain no traction at all.

Prim says, “You deserve worship.”

Vehemently: “I’m _not_ Five.”

“But you’ve got godly hungers, same as her.” Prim’s eyes flash in a pale reflection of the gem at her throat when she asks, “Wouldn’t you rather be sating those than examining tax records?”

Fantasies sprout like weeds in her mind. Four rips them out by the roots.

Proximity is the enemy here. Proximity and the way her fingers are nudging up along the armored wrist of Four’s gauntlet, where the sleeve tucks in and hides the flesh. Four should have never let her get this close.

Four turns away toward the dreary landscape outside. 

A palm cups her jaw and gently turns her back.

“You know… There’s a little get together happening right now. You could come.” Prim leans closer, and she was already plenty close. Her palm is feverish against Four’s face. She smiles down at her, and it’s not like One smiles at her, but it’s not totally _unlike_ it either. “Join us, I mean. It’d be fun.”

“I—” Four’s mouth is cottony. Her legs squeeze together. She knows _exactly_ what happens at Five’s little get togethers. “I shouldn’t—”

“Why not?”

Four tries again. “I can’t—”

With her other hand, Prim smooths an errant lock of hair behind Four’s ear. “Says who?”

Gently, Four feels herself begin to drown, hoping against hope that Prim will leave her be. 

Another part of her, that part that is slick with wanting, hopes against hope that she won’t.

When Four doesn’t respond, Prim laughs, and it’s not mocking, but Four feels her face burn all the same. She opens her mouth to stammer out a retort, to insist she shut up, that she, a human, even a human who looks very nearly like One, has no right—and in that moment, Prim draws her in. 

“You know,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to Four’s cheek. She lingers far longer than she needs to. Her breath is hot against her flesh. Four can feel her lashes against her skin. Lower, her guts twist and knot and _gods,_ she is so wet— “Lady Five was right. You _are_ really cute.”

Instinct wins out when thought shuts down: Four pushes. The pale woman topples, hitting the floor, and she blinks up at Four with such surprise. 

Ramrod still, Four can scarcely breathe. She balls her hands innocently by her sides and watches, mutely, as the woman rises, dusting herself off. There’s no indignation there. No fear. Five has told her some things, but perhaps she has not told her enough for that. _That_ sticks in her gums too, attractive in its own way. 

“Pardon that,” she says, with One’s mouth. “Was that too forward, Lady Four?”

Four takes the safest out: she says nothing.

“Well,” Prim says, after a moment. “You’re always welcome to stop by, if you change your mind. You know where we’re at.”

With a smile, she turns and heads for the door, and Four doesn’t move the entire time. At the threshold, she pauses, turns, and says, “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you, Lady Four.”

And she’s gone, closing the door after her, the only proof she’d been there at all in the lingering sensation of her lips on Four’s cheek. 

Four thinks of that moment, and imagines, in the safety of her own mind, that it was One. 

_Really_ One. Not a look-alike. 

Then she thinks of One’s orders, of Five’s goading, of the throb of desire pounding between her legs and trembles, faintly, shoving it down, forcing it under—

She thinks of her own words: she is not Five. 

And she isn’t. She couldn’t be. Just the thought of calling Prim back, of finding One, of letting anyone see her drawn so thin is horrific like heights: magnetic and lethal. 

Four twists towards the window because what she needs is to run until her legs ache and her ribs are a cage. What she needs is to find something to break and then break it into as many little pieces as she can manage. What she needs is to stop this little game, because she was never going to win anyway, not when she knows Five would never really play. What she needs is—what she _needs_ is—

Four’s fingers trace the place where Prim’s lips were and find the flesh febrile. 

What she _needs_ is…

The thought hangs suspended in her mind, and by the time she realizes, Four’s already beneath her skirt, pressing hard through the silk of stockings. 

“No!” she hisses, her jaw clenched so tight it hurts. She rips her hand away and spools tighter for it. “Stupid, _stupid.”_

She’s held back before. She can do it again. She can do it again, even if it hurts her like hunger. Even if it hurts her like thirst. Even if, her mind recalls in the low, wanting tones of One’s imposter, Four is a goddess. Even if Four _deserves_ worship. 

It almost draws her back, but—

Four abstains. She _always_ abstains.

Before she can linger in the miasma of Five’s perfume and the overpowering scent of her own arousal, Four vaults from the window and drops seven stories, intent to find something to kill.


	4. day three

The geas holds tight. Against everything Five can think to throw at it, the geas holds tight. 

And no matter how many men and women she puts to the task—no matter how accommodating or enthusiastic—Five shivers and sighs and rolls her hips and _still_ she cannot come. Even her own fingers cannot push her over the edge. She teeters on it precariously, her thighs soaked and tremor-struck, clit aching, but the subtle notes of Song afflicting her own refuse to let her tumble over. 

It’s not that she doubts One’s skill, but rather that she had once considered her a font of mercy. No more. Now she tracks her through the cathedral in between furious attempts at release, in vain, as everything seems to be now. 

One’s command of Song is greatest of them all, and she mutes her own to imperceptible levels; with the enhancement of her senses and Five’s own Song bleeding out like roadkill in the open air, it must be child’s play to avoid her. 

One and her games. Damn her, but can she not _feel_ that Five is suffering?

With nothing else to do, with her desires weighing upon her thoughts like a searing brand, Five looks for anything to busy herself. Not sex—it only exhausts and frustrates her at the moment. Even food has lost its flavor, and Five is just cranky enough to wonder if One is responsible for that too.

All that’s left is… Reports. 

Sprawled out on Four's bed, Five begins reluctantly. What she finds is: the Land of Mountains is a bureaucratic nightmare even she can’t untangle.

There are distributions for everything: tools and seed for struggling agrarians, ingots at reduced prices for blacksmiths, even road-building projects that Five is certain the treasury doesn’t have the money for, even if she can’t track down a concrete balance. Worse, when Five tries to pawn them off on retainers, she finds that not a single one is any help: they’re bodyguards and soldiers, not administrators. 

The only person running the Land of Mountains, according to them, is Four, which is just the stupidest thing that Five has ever conceived of.

At noon, when one of Four’s little messengers arrives with an armful of dossiers about potential political threats, there’s no room for them on the mattress, the duvet already covered in stacks of papers. Five grimaces over the top of a proposal for new waste management systems and takes them, but each is at least thirty pages and frankly—

“Well,” Five says, handing them back without ever glancing at them. “Whatever. Kill them all.”

“Lady Five?” the retainer asks. 

“That’s what my dear sweet sister Four would do, isn’t it?” she asks, saccharine, and hopes that One overhears this too. “Use whatever horrid methods she prefers to employ, just…” Five dismisses her with a wave. “Do whatever it is you usually do.”

Apparently drawing the conclusions she needs from that, the retainer bows and leaves her. Surrounded by stacks more of unfinished work, the victory feels astoundingly hollow, and Five slumps face-first into the duvet. With a routine like this and nowhere to blow off steam, it’s no wonder Four is half feral. Five feels half feral herself, and it's only been _two days._

The thought occurs to her in a lapse, and when she realizes it’s there, she plucks it like an infected splinter. One and her _perspective_ can rot.

In petty vengeance, Five begins to look over tax accounts once more, and drafts new allotments for brothels and taverns where she thinks Four will be able to see them. She also makes several orders of her favorite toy shop to be delivered to Four’s fortress in the interim, but this swiftly reminds her of her predicament, and she abandons it after only a small fortune of goodies are ordered. 

Notes of Song drift at her peripherals. Five jumps from her spot on the bed so quickly that the papers on the mattress around her scatter. 

“One,” she hisses, and is out the door and around the corner of the hall and—

Straight into Four. 

They collide with gusto—Five had intended to tackle One to prevent her slipping away—and end up spilled out of the floor, in a tangle of limbs that makes Five moan softly. Another body so close sends prickles of denial along her flesh. 

“Ugh, get _off!”_ Four shrills, thrashing beneath her. 

“If only,” Five groans, rolling away. 

How could she ever have mistaken Four’s Song for One’s? The melodies scarcely resemble each other at all. This drought is making her careless. Chiding thoughts circle, and Five collects herself there on her knees, biting back the sting of disappointment. Gods, where _is_ she—

In this time, Four is already on her feet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

It’s a talent of Four’s, to make every word so individually judgmental. Usually, Five would thrill in taking a hammer to each condemnation. Right now, she can only think of trying the geas again, of finding a nice sturdy lad and having him bury his face in her until his jaw falls off or she comes. 

Either that or finding One and begging. 

“I said—” Four snaps, towering over her, and Five realizes, belatedly, that she’s still there. “What. Do you think you’re _doing?”_ A pause. Her nose wrinkles. “And what’s wrong with your Song?”

“I’m languishing in eternal torment,” Five says and picks herself up off the ground. “Funny you mention my Song… Have you seen our dear leader recently?”

“One?” Green eyes narrow in her direction. “No, why?”

“Oh, just wondering when I’ll have the chance to prostrate myself… Or maybe wring her gorgeous little neck.” Four puffs up at that, but before she can launch into an impassioned spiel, Five complains, “It is so dreadful to be you, Four. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“What? _Me?_ You’re the one who’s impossible!” Four’s voice drops, in volume and temperature. “I saw her. That little—little trollop you have walking around pretending to be One. I can’t believe you… It’s—disgusting! And disrespectful! And that you would bring her here, where One might see her—”

“Oh, One’s seen her. We had tea the last time we were here.”

_“What?”_

“There’s a particular fantasy I’ve been nursing for some time. One’s aware, and I want to be prepared if she ever moves past her _reservations.”_ With a hefty dose of air quotes around the word, Five sighs and laments, “I _deserve_ to be sandwiched. I deserve to—”

Four shoves her. “You’re awful!”

The imprints of her palms are warm across Five’s flesh, and she shivers, swaying on the spot. If this keeps up, she’ll be a trembling mess at any touch—even _Four’s._

“I thought you’d like her,” Five manages to retort, and not kindly. “Work out all that… Pent up… Ugh... Energy before you try with the real thing. Come on, you never thought of it?”

“No! Absolutely not. I would never! You’re the only one who could ever…” The heat in her tone doesn’t sound entirely like righteous fury. Five quirks a brow, but that only makes Four double down. It always does. “Anyway! I saw your reports—”

 _“Ugh.”_ The last thing Five wants to think about is reports. “I couldn’t think of a worse way to squander away divinity than on reports. Get a clerk. Get _fifty_ clerks. It’s no wonder you haven’t gotten anywhere with dear, sweet Decadus… He’s playing second fiddle to _sewage removal.”_

“That’s not true!” 

“Fine. Highway expansion, then. _Boring.”_

“Mind your business!” Four snaps, and it sounds very much like _I hope you choke._

In moments like these, Four resembles a volcano before it blows. She’s all stiff, all solid, but red is rushing across her cheeks like bubbling magma. Five can practically hear her teeth grinding. Normally, she would love to coax out an explosion. The possibilities always seem endless, when Four gets like this; violence, usually, but that’s never been mutually exclusive to pleasure. 

Now, Five only sighs, watching Four spin herself into new tangles, her Song flitting high and low like a metronome. What’s the use in all the foreplay if she can’t get what she so desperately needs?

“What are you doing here anyway?” Five asks, suddenly, impossibly jealous. “You could be off with any of my retainers right now, but you’re sneaking around this wing of the cathedral instead?”

Jealous. She, Five, is jealous of _Four._ How did it ever come to this?

“Uh.” All the wind abruptly dies in her sails. Four is looking less Imminent Combustion and more There’s Orphan Vomit On My Favorite Blouse. “I—I’ve already finished all the work you left for the Land of Seas. I was just… I was coming to see if there was anything else that you neglected to inform your retainers of.” 

Five stares at her, blankly. 

“What?” Fours asks, brilliantly defensive already. 

“What work?” Five asks. "There is no work."

“Well, I was just—just double checking! Making sure you weren’t forgetting anything.” A pause, the sort someone takes when they need to reload. “You’re so irresponsible. How could you ever trust humans to run a country?”

“That’s what you’ve been doing over there? Sorting through my _paperwork?”_ The waste. The gall. Five could gag. “There’s a soiree happening right now, and you’re hiding out over here trying to find tax records?”

“I’m not hiding out!” That flush is back, Four crimson to the tips of her ears. “I’ve been trying to make a difference in your stupid country!”

“Are those leaves in your hair?” Four freezes, and it occurs to Five all at once. “Were you out hunting? Now? Are you serious?”

“No! Of course not! I would never leave the keep when I’m needed. You can’t just… You can’t leave humans alone with things! They’ll ruin everything!”

“Nevermind Prim. Any of my retainers would happily take you any way you wanted—”

“—Shut up! I’m not like you! I don’t want them to—”

“—While I waste away without hope for release—”

“—I wouldn’t, ever, with that—that impostor! She’s not One, and I can’t believe you’d ever try—”

“—It’s not fair,” Five all but whines. “It’s just not _fair._ You could be getting stuffed full right now, and you won’t even consider it. It’s ungrateful is what it is—”

“—Shut! Up!—” It warbles with Song. “—Shut up, or else I’ll—”

“—Probably won’t even appreciate the gifts I ordered for you—”

“—Gifts?—”

“—Worthy enough to mount it over your mantle, if you aren’t too busy mounting all 17 inches of flared majesty yourself—”

Song explodes in the corridor, and the stone and all the mortar between it quakes with the force of it. The notes cascade over Five like cold water, and she chokes, her own Song reverberating in a moment of harmony. 

“I’m done talking to you!” Four snarls. “I’m done hearing you say such filthy things!”

With a heel turn, Four departs, her shoulders hugging her neck, her steps ringing out over the stone, and Five is left alone, gasping for air. 

Oh fuck. Oh _Four._

There is a whistle of her passing, as Five cuts through the halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who've had the pleasure(?) of knowing me well: you may recognize that gift as a particularly Impressive product from baddragon that i've threatened to buy you for your birthday, or perhaps christmas. for those of you who haven't: his name is chance.


End file.
